


Cyanide

by Theheroshield



Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Cutting, Dreams, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-01-14 14:12:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1269385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theheroshield/pseuds/Theheroshield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cyanide: chemical that reacts with and inactivates respiratory enzymes, and causes rapidly lethal producing drowsiness, tachycardia, coma, and finally death...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Prisoner Within

_ Dear Sir Cyan, _

_ These days are as dark as the inside of a tomb. Or has it been weeks? Months? As I write this I feel but a mockery of the breeze against my cheek—where hath the wind gone? The seas rage like a great beast while the earth rots even as I walk upon it. Balance has become ruin. What hope can a person find in a world like this? _

_ I couldn't find any hope; not at first, anyway. To watch as our loved ones perished, felled not by swords but by the evil of the Empire. Your strength never failed to astonish me—how you picked yourself up and charged into the enemy camp. Though you'd not partaken of the foul waters I'd given you up for the dead. The Imperial army was vast and ruthless and you were but one man.  _

_ I mean, who'd have expected to hear from you ever again?  _

_ Yet I did. A friend I'd made in Zozo described you to me. I cannot tell how much my heart sang with joy at learning of another survivor. But then again, how could I have expected any less? The commander who'd single-handedly slew a hundred of those Imperial dogs…Cyan, my friend, my liege, you bring hope back to one who hath lost it.  _

_ I implore you to take it a step further. Come to Doma, Cyan. Help me restore our kingdom. Do not turn away in despair. Long and far hath I searched for an answer to our mutual dilemma. How was I to know that the answer lay within the walls of our beloved castle itself? Hasten back to your homeland and come see hope renewed.  _

_ Yours truly, _

_ Gareth _

"Huh? Oh, I think we may have a problem."

"Nobody ever wants to hear that, Setzer."

A smile crept across Cyan's face though the rest of his stance remained stern. Wind lifted the sash across his chest and his raven-black hair that had streaked silver at the temples. Silver? Since when did that happen? Cyan found he could not recall. Days blurred into nights; months into years. His whole life felt like a dream….

Or a nightmare.

The _Falcon_ veered sharply to her starboard side, sending Setzer and Edgar into a fit of frantic labour. His hearing impaired due to the wind, still the retainer heard their efforts to keep the airship afloat. The Figaro king was indeed correct, as far as Cyan was concerned. Airship woes ranked among the last things the retainer needed to worry about.

This ordeal would be difficult enough as it was.

With a sigh, Cyan dropped down from the railing, having perched upon it like a bird for the better part of an hour. Sabin lounged around deck, flexing his many muscles and appearing generally amused at his brother's and the gambler's sweat-streaked expressions. Just like Cyan, the Figaro prince was not fond of the machines, though he suffered the abominations with greater ease.

Hands on the hilts of his swords, the retainer prowled the deck, his impatience intensifying like a fanned flame. Ever did his mind lure back to the letter in his pocket. Cyan dutifully left it untouched in their presence, not desiring to worry his friends any more than strictly necessary.

"You know," Sabin rambled as he inspected his catclaws, "I think this is the third malfunction we've encountered since sending this beast into the skies."

"Beast!" Setzer shouted, pinning a strand of starlit hair behind an ear. "This ship is a marvel…But don't tell Daryl that!" He grinned as Edgar popped up from underneath the wheel. "This ship hasn't been used in years. She's bound to malfunction occasionally." Leaning down to deck, the gambler whispered, " _Falcon_ dear, I'll give you all the repairs your heart desires if you'd just get me to that damn island."

Island…

The retainer's hazel eyes cast out to the like-color sky. The island? Is that how people referred to the late great Doma now? The kingdom Cyan had defended for over thirty years? The retainer felt heartsick at the oft-recounted knowledge of his failure to protect Doma and her people. His people, his family…

"Setzer, Setzer, Setzer…" Edgar brushed dust off his blue attire, "You have it all wrong. You need to learn how to speak to her." His brother laughed until he was doubled over as the Figaro king whispered sweet nothings to the hull. Though pretending to be annoyed, Setzer too, engaged in the mirth of the moment.

Cyan did not. His stomach lurched and not just from the unsteadiness of his ship. Tiny needles of remorse and regret stabbed his gut as he remembered his deception to these fine friends. With little suspicion his comrades had eaten up his story of needing to see his homeland one last time before resuming his hunt for Kefka. Such fine friends, such foolish friends….

"I can't believe even you would stoop so low as to charm the airship, Edgar!"

The retainer spiralled out of his dark thoughts to see Celes appear on deck. Hands on hips, the rune knight stared intently for an answer from the Figaro King. Fortunate for him, Edgar was spared any embarrassment when Setzer cried, "Land!" Along with the other Returners Cyan darted to the ship's side, eyes eager to peer through the murk. As the castle loomed into sight, the retainer's breath caught in his throat.

As if with a mind of its own, his right hand rubbed his left wrist.

"Bring her down. Let Lady Luck be with us!"

Beneath his black boots, Cyan felt the drop of the airship. Her prow cut cleanly through the unnatural mist, affording a better view of the once-mighty fortress. Huge boulders sprawled in the courtyard and the wall lay shattered in several intervals. No sentries warded Doma—none could, for any who knew the tale of the ill-fated kingdom would marvel at even a single citizen within her walls.

Unless they knew differently, like he.

_ Falcon  _ landed on the sand a stone's throw from Doma. His senses barely noted the rumble of the boards at the slight lurch. As the group filed out of the airship and headed for the fortress Cyan followed, his gaze straight ahead.

"There's something not quite right," Celes whispered, taking the lead. After he strode to her side, the retainer found himself in agreement. Something did not fit into place. The lines in his face more prominent as Cyan frowned at his own vagueness. Things normally fell within definable categories. This…feeling…did not.

But, then, what did any of this make sense? Generals defecting, the free-spirited taking on responsibility and royalty braving the world to make it a better place…

Where did he fit in all of this?

Cyan's hands returned to Murasame and Tempest's hilts like into the hands of a comforting friend. With growing disinterest he watched his comrades discuss arrangements for _Falcon_ 's restoration and the investigation of Doma. Cyan sighed. He'd have much preferred to handle the matter himself. His friends wouldn't consider that, of course.

"Someone should remain on board to guard the ship," said Celes as she tied a bandana around her wrist. "That someone should be you, Setzer."

"Me?" Setzer pointed at himself. "Why me?"

Sabin answered for her. "It's your ship."

As the three discussed repairs for the _Falcon,_ the retainer made his way toward the castle. What would he find once within her walls again? Bodies, probably, half-eaten by the birds. Poison, undoubtedly, leaving a horrid smell in the air. What Cyan longed to discover was the man who'd composed the letter; the man who claimed to able to undo that damage…

Doma. As the past and present merged, the image before Cyan spun sickeningly, twisting to a sight long since gone. The sight of Doma in happier, healthier times. Doman sentries lined the parapets, spears and swords hoisted proud. Young knights rushed about the courtyard to kiss their fair maidens goodbye. The air and water smelt sweet, the color as pristine as a bright afternoon sky.

_ These days are as dark as the inside of a tomb. _

"Cyan?"

"Are you coming?"

"Are you alright, Cyan?"

The images shattered like someone had punched a mirror in front of the retainer. Blinking rapidly, the retainer stared without recognition at his companions. Then his mind returned to the present and Cyan noted Edgar's hand upon his shoulder, an uncharacteristic look of worry etched upon the Figaro king's face. Sabin and Celes hung around, both with similar expressions. Cyan knew at once that he must dispel their ill-ease.

"My appreciation for your concern, but I am quite well." The retainer gently but firmly shoved Edgar's hand off his shoulder. That action exposed his wrist and Cyan immediately knew that to be mistake for Sabin's eyebrows lifted and Celes gasped slightly. The latter took a step forward, clasping his hand in hers', peering at it curiously.

"How'd you get that?" Before the retainer could protest, Celes called over a shoulder. "Sabin, bring the Sraphim magicite here."

At once, Cyan recognized the intent and he panicked. The presence of the wounds might prompt questions; questions the retainer had not the heart to answer. As Sabin plucked the magicite from his pocket, the retainer yanked his hand away. He winced at the shock crossing his friends' faces but kept his voice stern. "As I have said, I am quite well. Shalt we go on?"

Sabin, Edgar and Celes exchanged looks. That could not be of a boon, but there was no helping for it. To make his point clear, the retainer took a deep breath and dropped his hands to Tempest and Murasame. With the discipline of a warrior, the retainer suppressed the uncanny images. Then, Cyan strode up the steps, hearing the sounds of his friends in his wake.


	2. The Odyssey

Cyan bolted upright in bed for the third time that night. As he gasped heavily moonlight bathed his sweaty forehead. Considering his trek through the castle, the retainer supposed he should have considered that his dreams might keep him awake. Scholars from faraway Thamasa claimed that people dreamed so that their unconscious mind could deal with memories in rest that in day they could not.  
But it appeared that even sleep would deny the retainer any peace.

Working methodically, Cyan dressed with none of his sleeping companions any the wiser. Soundlessly, he yanked on his boots and belt, slipping Murasame and Tempest into their respective sheaths. Despite his lone intention of stepping out for air, Cyan never left without the pair. A warrior without his weapons was a dead warrior.

His footsteps made less sound than the starlight shining through the windows. Memory served to lead his march since his mind could not. His thoughts flew to the exploration of Doma Castle. Everything was just as he'd left it over a year ago. Bodies still lay where they dropped from the poison, if a bit decayed. The waters had remained pungent and purple.

If he hoped to restore Doma he had a long way to go.

Cyan sighed as stepped onto the stone parapets. The wind swept up his hair like the torn black banners that populated the many spires. Sighing, the retainer laid his arms upon the wall, his gaze trailing the castle courtyard. Aside from the four Returners no one living occupied Doma. Yet, according to his letter, another should still be within. The one that held the key to the kingdom's restoration.

But where was he? After searching the castle extensively the retainer had seen no sign of him. Cyan didn't like to consider the implications of that but it was too painfully obvious to ignore. Perhaps the letter was old. Perhaps the sentry was long dead. It was time to face facts and realize that his dream was just that, a dream. Cyan knew it was best to leave and he fully intended to do that come the morning.

Again without mental prompting his hands moved, one to draw Tempest, the other to lay flat. As if drained of thoughts, Cyan's mind went blank. All that remained was his hand lifting the sword to lightly slice his wrist. Not deeply enough to seriously harm, but enough to elicit a trickle of blood. The blood dropped to the pool of poisoned water below, staining its color to an even uglier shade.

 _Why didn't I protect them? Why didn't I die in their place? They were young; I was not. How is that they perish while I shall see the last days of my kingdom…?_ Cyan worked the blade like a violin, his whole body in concert with the movement. _I shall avenge them, at least. But, then, what is to become of me?_

He didn't like to think beyond that point.

At that time, Cyan didn't have to. A hand lightly brushed his hip. Startled, the retainer glanced down to see a ragged boy make off with Murasame. He fled down the stone steps, hair tousled even more wildly with the race. Cyan let out a cry of outrage, then leapt down over the wall. That action cut the distance down but the boy still outpaced him, disappearing into the castle via a side door.

A Doman, perhaps?

Keeping Tempest high, Cyan hurried into the castle and attempted to decipher the boy's path. An unfurled carpet here, a knocked over scone there…The boy's haste made the trail not hard to find. He hurried up the stairs thinking all the while what he might do once the lad was apprehended. The law regarding thievery in Doma was swift and harsh—the removal of a hand or maybe even a head.

No, Cyan couldn't do that. Even if the boy's blood wasn't Doman still he couldn't commit himself to such severe punishment. A stern word, maybe a slight slap to the rump would probably serve the purpose. And what if the boy truly was a Doman? Cyan's heart constricted at the thought. That, and at the sight of the room the trail led to. The room, their room.

As if plunging into a chasm, the retainer remembered many nights spent with Elayne, many days with Owain. How he'd hold Elayne before they'd make love; how he'd hold Owain when he'd tell tales of his battles. During the investigation of the castle, Cyan had begged with as much dignity as he could muster that his friends not disturb the room. Empathy in their eyes, the three had agreed.

_It is a room. It holds no sway over me. I can handle the sight of their bodies; I held them as they'd died after all. I need my sword back. I will need everything at my disposal to slay Kefka._

Fortified by his mental monologue, Cyan threw up a foot and knocked down the door. The room was much as he'd left it—with one notable omission, that of their bodies. The retainer had a moment to ponder then his eyes caught sight of a foot sticking out from under Owain's bed. Had the bodies been taken elsewhere? Cyan decided to worry about that in a minute.

Moonlight framed the retainer's form as he spoke with his cultured voice, "Surrender the blade, lad, or else I rend your hiding place in two."

Out came the hilt of Murasame, inching past the gold bedspread. Cyan had never any intentions of proceeding with his threat, but was pleased at the success of the dupe. Smiling, half-amused, half-annoyed, Cyan bent down to scoop up the blade. After swiftly sheathing her and Tempest, his hand darted out to grasp the lad's wrist. The boy squealed but Cyan held on, hauling him out from under the bed.

His heart nearly arrested at the sight.

Owain. Here. Live. Well.

"Papa! Papa! I'm so happy you're home! Let's go fishing!"

Twitching as if in the throes of death, Cyan couldn't believe his eyes and ears. The boy clung to his leg as Owain had often done in the past. He stared up with his mother's diamond-blue eyes, obscured slightly by golden hair. Overwhelmed, Cyan tore the boy free. Owain jumped closer again, but the retainer kept him at arm's length.

His voice was barely above a whisper. "Owain? Is that you?" In his mind's eye, the retainer witnessed his son collapse into the bed, breathing his last. That image merged with the sight of Owain before him now, his smile looking ridiculous as the overalls he donned. He shook his head. No, it could not be. Cyan's rational mind understood that. But what explained the fact of his son standing less than a foot away?

Madness. He'd gone mad with grief. Those scholars from Thamasa also claimed that if an individual failed to properly handle their sorrow then the logical mind would shut down. All sorts of apparitions and hallucinations could occur sometimes resulting in the victim becoming immersed to the point of never returning to the material world.

Perhaps visiting Doma wasn't such a good idea after all.

"I'm—I'm sorry! I must take my leave!" Cyan muttered as he spun on a heel for the door. With the lad crying out for him in the background, the retainer rushed through the corridor. His hands white as he gripped Murasame and Tempest, Cyan pounded his way through several antechambers, hoping the insanity would not follow.

But it did.

His throat raw from the running, Cyan jerked a door open and threw himself in. His blood kept its speedy pace through the retainer's veins even though he understood that Owain didn't give chase. Only after slamming the door shut did the retainer recognize the room he'd entered. Crimson velvet tapestries, marble pillars, violet carpet running to the huge stone throne upon which sat the king.

The King?

"Sir Cyan, you're a sight for sore eyes!"

With shock that only paralleled the sight of Owain, Cyan stared transfixed at his liege lord. A fur coat rested on the younger man's shoulders and it shook with each guffaw. The kindly gray eyes glittered with laughter at his subordinate's baffled expression.

"But—but you are dead!" Cyan sputtered.

"Cyan, are you daft? I'm very much alive. Have you overindulged in the mead?"

Had the retainer not partaken in any alcohol at all, he might have wondered the same thing. The indulgence Cyan had made was clearly in insanity. It had sunk into his senses and blurred his reality. The retainer felt discordant, as if edges of his reflexes had been stolen away. How easy would it be to fall within the folds of insanity, to forget all the pain?

There is a way…

Cyan started, hands dropping to his swords' hilts. As he cocked a head to regard the king, the retainer noted nothing to indicate that his liege had spoken. His fur coat billowing slightly, the king descended from his throne. He took a step toward Cyan, but the retainer recoiled, unnerved. The king didn't seem to mind. "Off with you now, to your wife. Elayne has hardly left the gates since your departure."

Elayne? Here? Live? Well?

Despite wisdom shouting caution, the retainer gasped briefly then headed out the door. He tore through the painting-strung corridors and the debris-full chambers. In his mind the image of his beautiful wife sprang into view long before he ever reached the gate itself. When he slowed down to the archway, Cyan was not disappointed.

Soft strawberry-blonde hair, crisp blue eyes, and a smile that could take a man's breath away…Without thinking, without considering, the retainer swept Elayne into his arms. His wife was smiling and laughing. For a moment, Cyan let himself become immersed in the dream.

His rational mind worked overtime and eventually broke the haze of happiness. Reality crashed down reminding the retainer that this simply wasn't possible. Elayne was dead. As her small lips rose to meet his, Cyan fought off the urge and thrust her back. It felt like ripping the heart from his chest.

"Cyan?" Elayne's hands reached out to his but Cyan stepped back. "Are you alright? I've missed you so much! I'm so happy you've returned." Again, she tried to kiss him and again he resisted. By this time, her blue eyes shined with unshed tears. "What's the matter?"

"Elayne…How is this possible? I saw you all…" He shook his head. Even thinking about that awful day felt like a dagger straight to the gut. "…I felt the life fade from your body. From our son's. Yet here you are, standing before me, our son waiting in our quarters…"

_You hath taken a big step, Cyan. How much are you willing to sacrifice to restore Doma?_

"This is madness!" the retainer cried. His eyes darted this way and that, looking for an exit. Elayne stared at him helplessly. As her hand touched his arm, Cyan jolted. Instinctively Tempest and Murasame sprang from their sheaths, coming to bear on his wife. She let out a horrific scream and backed off.

Cyan simply couldn't handle the insanity at the time. Stumbling all the while, he fled the courtyard and passed over the threshold of the gate. That's when his vision tunnelled and pain lanced down his back. The retainer fought the rising darkness but it was a losing battle. The agony continued to assail him, becoming the only feeling.

Then that was gone and he felt nothing. Nothing at all.


	3. Corridor of the Lost

Hands tore through the darkness, stealing into his skin. Cyan screamed but it was a piteous sound, more like a whisper in winter winds. Far more profoundly rang the voices in his head, blaming him, hating him. Cyan continued to struggle, somehow understanding that to fall into the madness was to fail his loved ones once again.

The retainer crashed to the floor, blades clanging to either sides of him. For a moment, Cyan shut his eyes and just breathed. He'd not experienced anything like that before. Ignoring his swords for the moment, Cyan placed a hand on his knee and pushed up to his feet. The sight that greeted him was almost as disorienting as the ride itself.

As if distorted by water, a blue corridor wavered before his eyes. In his limited understanding of the metaphysical, Cyan simply couldn't wrap his mind around it. His boot slipped slowly across the floor in testing, fearing that it might collapse. At least magicite was predictable. This was not.

Nor were the hands that grasped at the retainer's heels. Cyan let out a yelp as he crashed down to his knees again. Bone-white hands sought to draw him under the insubstantial floor. Giving a second cry, this time of fury, the retainer jerked his feet but could not break free. Nor could he escape the voices in his head.

_Cyan, why did you leave us?_

_Why didn't you protect us?_

_You have disgraced yourself and your family!_

On and on the voices burned a path of pain in his head. His hands flew up to his ears but, of course, that did him little good. When the retainer had departed Doma to assault the Imperial camp his mind had shut down to everything but his rage. The rage had consumed all logic, leaving him with only deadly purpose.

With Murasame and Tempest at work on his heels, the bone-hands fell away. More reached up for the retainer. Cyan didn't think of where he was headed, only that he must evade their freezing touch. He hurried through the nearly-identical sapphire hallways. One of them must lead out. Remaining trapped in here would drive the retainer mad.

If he wasn't already, that is.

After the heat of the moment, sorrow sunk in. The weight of their deaths had been like a behemoth sitting on him. It crushed the life from Cyan. With the aid of his Returner companions the retainer had found new life, new meaning. The attack on the Floating Continent gave him hope that the world might be spared more tragedies like Doma.

After running down some questionable steps, the retainer halted for breath. Out of doors that materialized from nothingness emerged comrades of old, his soldier brethren. At first, Cyan smiled widely, relieved. That smile twisted into a grimace as he took sight of them fully. Their skin hung from their bones, where flesh they had. Many merely walked as skeletons, yet their faces were distinctive, recognizable even. In their eyes glowed no warm fellowship—they marched toward him, faces pale with hatred.

The world had not been spared. As if times the horror of Doma tenfold, the land rotted and the sea boiled. Hope had flown away like a bird from the broken parapets of his castle. When his friends had found him again, the retainer had been overjoyed to see them. Cyan had rather they'd not seen his poems and flowers, though.

"Sir Darrin? Sir Aleron? Sir Bernard?" All there of the named soldiers swung swords at the retainer. Unprepared, Cyan sloppily blocked the first two with his blades and dodged the third. Others of his contingent closed on him, their weapons reflecting the bizarre light of the corridor. Again and again Cyan parried, heartsick at the idea of fighting his own comrades.

_Hath you at last started to reconsider my proposal?_

As mindless automatons they attacked, no hint of any other emotion in their wasted faces. A blade slipped under the retainer's arm as he countered a slash at his side. It sliced his leg and would have cut right through had Cyan not deflected it with Murasame. Another spear drove at him and the retainer did a series of hops, leaps, and ducks to avoid being impaled.

Normally, he'd have been able to defeat them. But his heart was not in the fight. Cyan tried to reason with them, but either they heard not or cared not for they gave no outward sign of either. In desperation, the retainer called out to the strange voice. Only then did he receive reprieve from the blind hatred.

_Cyan, this is penance for failing to save Doma._

Cyan parried a sideways thrust. "Cease this, if you can!"

Follow me and you can escape this pain.

"Speak your name, wraith!"

_Come. Down the hallway._

The fight with his former companions was not likely to cease any time soon. Even though he knew they were already slain, still Cyan couldn't force himself to go on the offence to save his skin. And he would be saving his skin for they had no compulsion to spare his life. It was a stalemate, though not a permanent one. Sooner or later he'd tire and then…

If only there was some way out…

A door appeared to his left. Cyan thought that a bit too convenient.

"Very well!" Disgusted at himself and hating the accusations from the voices, the retainer relented. After completing a sweeping slash that pushed his opponents back, the retainer leapt over the nearest Doman and rushed toward the door. He was not a man who often ducked out a fight but he made allowances for this time…all things considered.

With the soldiers approaching still Cyan didn't immediately pass through the gateway. It looked unstable. Despite carrying a magicite, the retainer had no love of the mystical. Who knew it this wasn't a trap? As he stood there considering, the voice came in his head again.

_How much would you give to see your loved ones again?_

The words spilled from his lips before the retainer could even form rational thought. "Anything, everything. The very breath from my body."

_Good. Then you have no problems going through that door._

Cyan nodded, his mind made up. Indeed this portal could take him to any number of places. The retainer glanced over a shoulder to see the ruined faces of his old friends ever nearer. But how was where he was now any better? As long as he didn't even up back at the Phantom Train, why would he care?

Cyan whispered the Ode to Doma in his head and stepped pass the threshold.


	4. Ghost of the Past

Cold. Hard. Unyielding. Those were the first things Cyan felt as he tumbled through the latest portal. Fog flew up into face, mostly insubstantial mist but much of it from his own boggled mind. As it cleared, his hazel eyes took in the sight of a cobblestone walkway. A star-studded sky shone overhead, lighting an abomination the retainer had never wished to see again.

The Phantom Train. Exactly the place he'd wanted to avoid.

As Cyan staggered to his feet, he heard the familiar whistle from the train. It was soon to depart and good riddance. The last time he'd laid a foot on that damned vehicle the retainer feared he'd never escape. Worst of all, part of Cyan hadn't wanted to. With the aid of Sabin, Cyan understood the implications of remaining on or returning to the train. It had almost cost him his life once. What would happen if he'd boarded it again?

_You swore to do anything to protect Doma. That train will lead you to redemption._

"To redemption?" Cyan said as he brought a hand to his forehead, feeling weary. "How much must I sacrifice?"

_Anything. Everything. The very breath from your body…those were your words, were they not?_

That moved his feet. Ironically, that also seemed to move the train, for its whistle blew hard and it sprang to life down the tracks. The retainer blocked his mind of all thought, save one: boarding that train. His footsteps pounding in his ears, Cyan flanked the train for a time but even for one of his endurance, fell further and further behind.

In a moment of desperation, the retainer threw himself at the railing. His fingers closed around the cold steel, holding fast. Gasping, Cyan pulled himself fully aboard. As he slumped against the door of a boxcar, his thoughts returned with a vengeance. What madness dictated his actions this time? Grief had prompted him to climb into the train the first time. That was a somewhat acceptable excuse. As for this…

One should really only chance death as many times as strictly necessary.

His hands slipping to the two hilts, Cyan glanced through the tiny porthole of the door. Apparitions roamed the lush interior, as they had in his first visit. Occasionally the ghosts had been benign, helpful even, but most proved a threat. Though he did not fear them the retainer had no desire to lock blades with the apparitions. What would be the point?

Up the side ladder Cyan climbed, wind stinging his face like Sabin's catclaws. The steel felt cold beneath his naked hands. Upon reaching the roof, the retainer leapt on and cast his gaze at the next few boxcars. Over a dozen separated him from the engine. Cyan breathed nosily, frustrated.

"Where are you taking me? How does this lead to the betterment of the kingdom?" Despair clung to edges of his voice, though Cyan fought hard to mask it.

Whether his 'friend' deigned to answer, the retainer had no time for him. Hearing the shuffle of robes, Cyan glanced down to see the ghosts creeping towards his boxcar. He supposed he should have made allowances for that, especially considering the last time. Dispatching them would probably be swift but again the retainer viewed it as a wasteful effort and so made his way to the next boxcar.

Cyan did not like to consider what would happen to him should he fall.

He was granted the opportunity to learn, however. The retainer miscalculated his next jump, jarred as he was by a ghost grabbing at his arm. Cyan slipped and struck his head against the roof. That momentary disorientation cost the retainer for he stumbled off the roof. Random chance saved him, as the train took a bump and a chain wrapped around the retainer's hand.

Ghosts pressed him from all sides now, their ghastly half-faces leering at him. Worse, his fingers began to retract one by one. Cyan fought for every ounce of strength. Warrior's instinct shouted his brain, and his hand reacted by whipping out Tempest. The sword clanged hard against another metal weapon, a flail, then reversed the stroke to parry a spear thrust. Cyan understood that he could not hold out much longer. Either he'd miss a blow from the numerous attacks or he'd fall away into whatever awaited him in the darkness beyond the tracks.

That darkness was momentarily dispelled as Tempest emitted a searing white light, blinding Cyan and nearly causing him to release. A mini-maelstrom swept across the boxcar, dousing the ghosts in winter-bitten sleet and rain. A few ghosts tumbled from the boxcar and those that didn't staggered back, stunned.

That was exactly the opportunity Cyan had been looking for. Using the momentum of the train's next bump, the retainer heaved up to the railing. Immediately he ascended the ladder to that boxcar. How long the ghosts would be incapacitated, he knew naught. As long as he reached the engine the retainer guessed that disabling it would halt the train. It had in the past.

Of course, things weren't exactly the same as the last time.

As he continued hoping from boxcar to boxcar, it was to the retainer's astonishment to discover that the engine was in the next boxcar. He was almost certain it was at least another two boxcars away. Sighing, opting not to question his fortune, Cyan continued onto the engine boxcar. Then he dropped down from the roof and slid the door open. With some difficulty the retainer closed it shut again.

Inside was a familiar sight; the control panel on one side and the levers on another. Smiling grimly, Cyan made a bee-line for the latter. For a long moment, the retainer stared at them, working to recall the combination Sabin had used to shut the train down. That smile warmed to genuine pleasure as it came rushing back. The rusted levers creaked as Cyan flipped two up and one down.

Nothing happened. The train was still merrily on its way, unslowed even.

Crossing his arms, the retainer stared hard at the levers. What was he doing wrong? Had he not pushed them up or down enough? Additional attempts at doing just that proved that theory invalid. Was he remembering the combination incorrectly? Two down and then one up? No, that didn't work. First up, second down and the third up again? That didn't provide any other results either.

He was a sad example of a person fiddling with technology. Edgar or Sabin would have been better suited to the task.

"I hath longed so desperately to board this train and now here I am so desperate to escape," Cyan whispered as his fists clenched. The Phantom Train might continue along its course, delivering him to the world of the dead. His hands drifted to one another. Though many times the retainer could barely stand the agony of his life, he still fought to preserve it.

"How does one halt this abomination?"

_Whoever said that the Phantom Train needed to be stopped? The test before you is not as simple as that…You wish to leave the train?_

A tint of sarcasm bleeding into the tone, Cyan said, "I should think that would be obvious, but yes, that I do desire."

_You must jump._

"Jump? Jump where…?" Cyan's black brows flew into his forehead. "You can not mean I must leap from the train…that is madness…"

_And what of any of this is not? If you do not, the hope for Doma shall remain ever from your grasp…_

Step by step Cyan walked over to the door and pushed it open. Immediately wind rushed up to his face. He made it a point to stare straight down. Nothing lay beyond the tracks that the retainer could see. He took a deep breath and secured his blades. Should he actually survive the jump Cyan didn't want them coming lose to impale him.

Cyan dove in.


	5. Mines of the Mind

Again Cyan spun in the darkness, but he noticed that he wasn't falling. Having experienced this twice already the retainer knew what to expect and thus collected himself for the sickening drop.

It was over.

Licking his lips, Cyan rose unsteadily to his feet. He blinked, then cast his gaze around. Narshe Mines? A shrug and Cyan slowly made his way through the mines, his head craning for a better view. Pipes hung low forcing the retainer to crouch from time to time. The acrid fumes invaded his nostrils. He had never liked the mines; much preferred the fields of the countryside.

"What is the purpose for my presence here?" Cyan demanded, keeping hands on the hilts. His voice carried far, too far, for his comfort. The hairs tingled on the back of his neck. Something in the shadows stirred. A trick of the murky lamplight? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

_You should know by now. This is of your making._

"That is of no help whatsoever."

_Crack…_

Working independently of his conscious mind, both hands swiftly unsheathed Tempest and Murasame. His gaze flickered from one shadow to the next. His instincts had proved correct. Something did lurk there. Several somethings. The shape of the shadows could not have been formed of the rock face or the pipes.

_Watch out!_

"An unnecessary warning, I assure you," Cyan said as the first of the shadows separated. A slight sigh escaped his lips as the first creature stepped into the light. A wererat. Nothing to be concerned about. That sigh twisted to an uncharacteristic curse as more of the monsters materialized. Dozens more. And all of them stood between him and the exit.

Time to even the odds. Cyan drew out the Ifrit magicite, calling upon its innate powers. Upon completion, he opened the magicite-bearing hand and thrust it in the direction of the wererats. They hissed fearfully as a gout of flame shot out from the shard, incinerating the first three and badly singeing the others.

"En garde!" Cyan lifted both blades in the air and leapt forward. He smiled as four of the wererats rushed him, the others remaining behind. The wererats were a cowardly lot, and would hang back until their brethren were slain then attack their weakened foe. Just the basic instinct the retainer had been counting on.

Cyan's next action stopped that plan cold…or hot, rather, as the retainer summoned a circle of flames around himself and the four wererats. Outside the ring the wererats continued to hiss, this time out of fury. They banged their halberds and scythes against the cold stone ground but Cyan paid them no heed. Their deaths would have to wait.

Murasame and Tempest swept out in opposite arcs, deflecting a blow each. He completed the circle to cut two wererats in half. The third wererat slashed at his side. Cyan easily dodged then kicked the monster in the head, knocking it out and to the ground. On a hunch the retainer flipped both his blades over his head to protect his back. He heard the satisfying clang of an attack blocked from behind. Then, Cyan spun on a heel to decapitate his would-be assailant.

The fires died down, but many green eyes glinted from the darkness.

 _You can not win this fight. They are simply too many._  
"And what of the legend of the man who can slay a hundred alone?" Cyan said wryly as he wiped blood from his chin.

_You are old, Cyan. You know it. You can feel it in your bones. This task will not be completed through strength of arms._

Draining the last of the magicite's power the retainer threw up a wall of flames to thwart his pursuers. Then, Cyan hurried through the corridor and into another. He knew the flames would not deter them indefinitely. Perhaps if he could put enough distance between himself and the monsters they'd quit the chase.

As the retainer ran, churning up dust, his thoughts drifted back to Doma. How did a jaunt through some bizarre corridor, the Phantom Train, and now these mines aid in the restoration of his kingdom? And who was it exactly that drove him on this…quest? The voice sparked edges of memory yet the identity still eluded Cyan. Familiar, yes, from a long time ago.

"State your name. I will have no dealings with one who will not identify…" Cyan's voice trailed off as he peered into the corridor. Pipes hung low. The fumes burned his nose. Shadows tip-toed in the corners. He'd been here before—mere moments ago, in fact. His hazel eyes widened. How was this possible? Had he taken a wrong turn?

"What manner of madness is this?"

A hiss answered him. Wererats approached from all sides, tightening a circle of vicious blades and claws. Cyan could dispatch them again, albeit with slightly more difficulty being bereft of esper magic, but for what point or purpose? He stood to gain nothing but losing time he felt he was already starting to run low on as it was.

As the first two wererats struck out with spears, Cyan blocked with his blades. His eyes caught sight of a pipe above and a smirk teased his lips. Tempest and Murasame flicked back into their sheaths. Ducking another high cut, this one from behind, the retainer sprang up. Then, his arms wrapped around the pipe and Cyan swirled around and around evading their blows. Below the wererats banged their weapons and hissed, frustrated.

"I should very much like to send you all to the abyss from whence you came," the retainer declared as he swayed back and forth like a swing set. The wererats made jabs at him but again missed. "But I've not the time." With that, Cyan swung hard and let go, flying far past the monsters. He landed lightly, stopping only for a breath before running for the exit. The wererats did not follow.

As he suspected, the same corridor as before awaited him. Two corridors, slightly different, one leading into the other…That would probably baffle the Thamasa scholars, they who could explain everything. There was no explanation for this, unless of course, one counted insanity and then all would make sense. Sort of.

"Not through strength of arms…" Cyan whispered as his hand lifted to clasp his chin. What then? Ever had strength been the retainer's forte. Wit, he supposed. Someone like Setzer or Celes would be better suited for this task. Cyan smiled sadly. Where were his friends? How did they fare? Did they fear for him, wonder where he'd gone off to?

"Cyan!"

Cyan started. "Who? Who was that?"

_Focus. This is a riddle. Think it through._   


"A riddle…A loop, is more like it. If I continue forward I'll only arrive at the beginning…" Cyan's eyes lit up at making the pieces fit. "So, if I proceed backwards then I should arrive at the end." It seemed odd that he should stumble upon it with only scant deliberation. But who in the right mind would question good luck?

With no gain in sight with his current course, the retainer retreated to the first corridor of the mines. Slaying the first dozen or so wererats would pose no problem for the seasoned warrior. But what if his assumption should prove incorrect? Cyan's left hand drifted to his right wrist. Then, with a conscious effort, they forcibly retracted. He'd not the time for weakness now.

His fears were dispelled as the retainer stepped out into the sunlight. He stood upon the outcropping of the mountain with a decrepit bridge not ten feet away. Clouds swiftly masked the sun, stealing its light and warmth. Cyan set his jaw determinedly and crossed the bridge, taking care not to let his weight shift too heavily on any particular board. Fortunately, he passed without incident.

After the bridge, Cyan came upon the entrance into another tunnel of Narshe Mines. Would this bring him back to the corridor of wererats? The idea did not appeal to the retainer. Should he backtrack? Cyan shook his head angrily. No, he would not. Continuous backtracking might lead him to any number of places, like the Veldt or even the Lete River.

Cyan's hand drifted down to the letter, hoping to derive some semblance of sanity from the madness whirling around him. Give him some purpose in this mission. It was then that the retainer at last understood. His lips parted slightly, too shocked for words. Yes, he supposed he should have pieced this together by now. How had he not?

"I know your voice…" whispered Cyan. "I did not think you had survived."

_You have faced the anger of your countrymen. You have faced death. You have faced uncertainty and the unknown. Those were the trials you'd assembled for yourself. A man makes his own challenges—even in his dreams._

"And that is what you meant by 'my own making'?"

_Yes. You have but one more test, Cyan. The last leg of your journey is at hand._

"I will not proceed until you at last admit your identity—Sir Gareth!"

_Come and you shall see._

Cyan sighed as he stepped through the portal. He was really beginning to hate these.


End file.
